


i wish i was special

by firstdegreeburns



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, I'm not sure what I'm doing, Kissing, M/M, Songfic, connor's not really in a good place, very connor-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 03:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12999096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreeburns/pseuds/firstdegreeburns
Summary: Connor doesn’t try. Connor can’t control himself. Connor is a freak.songfic to 'creep' by radiohead !!





	i wish i was special

**Author's Note:**

> well, i wrote this while i was half asleep and procrastinating for a million other things, whoops. but i thought this song fit connor really well, and here we are i guess
> 
> trigger warning for intrusive thoughts and drug use

_When you were here before_

_Couldn’t look you in the eye_

_You’re just like an angel_

_Your skin makes me cry_

 

“Um- I’m sorry, but- is anyone sitting here?”

 

Connor lifts his head towards the shaking voice from above him and blinks wearily. The kid that had asked the question is curled in on himself, his fingernails digging into the hem of his polo shirt with the hand the isn’t covered in a plain white cast and his cheeks flushed. Big brown eyes dart between the empty seat next to Connor, to the teacher who has just walked in the room. He looks vaguely familiar, and Connor thinks that his name starts with an E. Maybe Ethan?

 

“Whatever,” Connor grumbles. The kid doesn’t move, just stands there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Well? You gonna sit or what?” He nods so fast that Connor is pretty sure that he’s going to give himself whiplash.

 

“Sorry- um, I’m sorry,” he mutters, sitting down awkwardly.

 

Connor furrows his eyebrows, ignoring the teacher's voice from the front of the class. “Why’re you sorry?”

 

The boy shifts uncomfortably, lifting his legs up slightly from his chair. “Well, uh, I don’t know? So um, yeah, I’m sorry- wow, that sounded really stupid, sorry.”

 

“You do that a lot, don’t you?”

 

“Do what?”

 

Connor rolls his eyes. “Apologize.”

 

He lets out a nervous chuckle. “Um, yeah, I guess I do? I’m-”

 

“Don’t.” The kid bites down on his lip to keep from saying anything else, and Connor can’t help but let the permanent scowl that’s etched onto his face from softening. “You want to say it again, don’t you.”

 

“Very much so, yes.”

 

Connor snorts, and the boy’s grip on his polo shirt relaxes ever so slightly. “That’s funny. You’re funny.”

 

“Not really.”

 

Connor grins. “I’m Connor Murphy.”

 

“E-Evan Hansen.” So, not Ethan then. Evan sounds better anyways. They sit there staring at each other for a minute, until the teacher calls out and asks if they need to be separated, Normally, Connor would just flip her off, but Evans eyes widen and he looks like he’s about to cry, so Connor just shakes his head, and leans back in his chair.

 

Evan furiously takes notes for the rest of the class, so Connor doesn’t get another chance to talk to him until the bell rings. Which is really fucking weird. He can’t remember the last time that he’s actually _wanted_ to talk to another human. Like. Fucking weird.

 

“So,” Connor asks, while Evan is shoving his array of papers back into his bag. Connor doesn’t even bother to bring things to school anymore. “How’d you break your arm?”

 

Evan hesitates, before grabbing a handful of pens and tucking it into the bags pockets even faster than before. “I- uh, I fell out of a tree,” he mutters, so low that Connor barely hears it.

 

“You fell out of a tree?” Connor laughs, attempting to make a joke. “Well, that’s the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, oh my god.”

 

“YeahIknow.” He laughs, but it sounds forced.

 

Connor swallows. “No one’s, uh, signed your cast,“ he points out. Evan nods, his eyes staring down at the stark white plaster. “Well- I’ll sign it.” Evan starts to protest, but Connor grabs the black sharpie that’s clutched in his fist and writes ‘CONNOR’ across it in huge black letters. He chooses not to acknowledge the fact that the marker is really sweaty and it almost slips out of his hand multiple times.

 

Connor almost caps the marker and hands it back to Evan, but he stops, the writing utensil hovering in the air. Evan is looking at him with the huge eyes again, and Connor quickly scribbles down ten numbers underneath the two R’s.

 

“There,” Connor says. He doesn’t give Evan a chance to look at it before he stands up and starts towards the door, ignoring the loud scraping sound that his chair makes against the hard tiles. “See you around.”

 

And he’s out of the classroom, running down the halls and across the parking lot, all the way into his rusty car, wondering what the hell he just did.

 

_You float like a feather_

_In a beautiful world_

_And I wish I was special_

_You’re so fucking special_

 

“You coming?” Connor calls from his spot at the top of the huge oak tree. Evan grins up at him, pulling himself up onto the branch, his cheeks red and eyes sparkling in the evening sunlight. “You’re so slow,” Connor teases, nudging Evan with his shoulder.

 

“You have longer legs t-than me!” Evan pants, clutching onto his chest. “It was a c-completely unfair competition!” He nudges Connor’s shoulder back, and Connor has to grip onto the tough bark to keep from falling out of the tree.

 

“You’re just mad cause I’m better at climbing your fucking trees than you.” Evan decides not to answer, and instead stares out at the orchard below them, sucking in deep lungfuls of air as he tries to catch his breath.

 

“Thank you,” Evan says quietly. All of a sudden, the playful smile that had been tugging at his lips disappears, replaced with fidgeting fingers and hunched shoulders. “For, uh- bringing me here? It’s just- no one ever does a-anything like this? For me? So, uh- thanks.”

 

The corners of Connor’s mouth turn upwards, and he shakes his head. “No problem,” he says, and he means it. He honestly can’t believe that Evan actually wants to hang out with him, that Evan talks to him, that Evan wants to sit with him at lunch, because Connor’s a freak, Connor’s loud, and angry, and scary, and no one wants to be around him. “What are friends for?”

 

“Friends?” comes the surprised reply.

 

“Yeah,” Connor says, even if he’s screaming at himself, _no, no, Evan doesn’t want to be your friend._ “If that’s cool with you.”

 

“That’s, um- that’s very cool with me,” Evan says, and the tightness that had been steadily building up in Connor’s chest releases.

 

They sit there for a few minutes, watching as the sky turns from pink, to yellow, to orange, the sun slowly sinking into the ground. Connor is debating whether or not to get out of the tree, because his legs are starting to fall asleep, when Evan rests his head against his shoulder, and Connor freezes, his heart skipping a beat. Evan tentatively looks up at him, as if to ask if this is okay, and Connor leans into him, letting the edges of their hands touch.

 

He guesses he can stay here a little while longer.

 

_But I’m a creep_

_I’m a weirdo_

_What the hell am I doing here?_

_I don’t belong here_

 

“I had another fight with my dad yesterday,” Connor says around a mouthful of wilted lettuce that the school thinks is acceptable to call ‘lunch.’ Evan wrinkles his nose, and Connor can see little freckles splattered across his cheeks.

 

“About w-what?” He asks.

 

“Drugs.” Evan makes a small noise, and Connor purses his lips. “He threatened to take away my car if I don’t stop, and I told him that I’d like to see him fucking try.”

 

Evan isn’t answering. His eyes are glued to his own salad, and Connor knits his eyebrows together. “What?” He demands.

 

Evan swallows nervously. “Well, uh- maybe he’s right?” The look on Connor’s face must be enough for Evan to realize that he should shut up, because his eyes widen and he backpedals as fast as he can. “No, wait, that’s not what- that’s not what I meant at all, I’m sorry, wait-”

 

“Chill out, Hansen,” Connor grumbles. He spears another piece of lettuce with his plastic fork. “You don’t need to apologize for every fucking thing.”

 

“What’s up, Acorn,” a new voices says, cutting off the stream of ‘sorries’ that were sure to come out of Evans mouth. Jared slides into the empty seat next to Evan, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Hey, Conman! I’m loving the new hair length, very ‘school shooter chic.’”

 

Connor’s fingers almost reach up to touch the ends of his loose curls, but he clutches onto the strap of his bag instead. “Funny,” he says. “That’s really fucking funny.” Jared and Evan just sit there, looking at him. Connor’s knuckles turn white. “What? Am I not laughing hard enough for you?”

 

“Jeez, you’re such a freak,” Jared mutters, and Connor’s already done. Ignoring Evans quiet protests, he stands up abruptly, leaving his tray on the table. He stalks out of the cafeteria and into the nearest bathroom that has two freshman huddled in the corner, looking terrified, and because Connor’s a _freak, he’s a freak, he’s a freakfreakfreak,_ it only takes one look in their direction before they’re out the door, and Connor’s alone again.

 

He grabs onto the cool edge of the sink, so hard that makes his hands shake, but he can’t let go. If he does, Connor will blow away, like a feather on a windy day. He’ll be so far gone, that he won’t be able to come back again, and he’ll disappear into the void, going, going, _gone_ . Voices chant in his head like a mantra, and Connor’s heard them so many times before, that he’d like to believe that they don’t affect him. But they do, and their chorus of _freakfreakfreak_ makes him want to cry, scream, do _something_ destructive, something that will leave him satisfied, angry, and full of regret.

 

He settles for shattering the mirror hanging on the wall.

 

_I don’t care if it hurts_

_I want to have control_

_I want a perfect body_

_I want a perfect soul_

 

Connor doesn’t care that he gets suspended for a week for breaking the mirror; he probably wouldn’t have went to school anyway. The only bad part about it is that he doesn’t get to see Evan, because Larry took his car and told him that he wasn’t getting it back until he learned how to control himself. That lead to a lot of screaming between the two of them, which lead to a scared Zoe locking herself in her room, which lead to his mother crying on the couch for two hours. A lovely night in the Murphy household.

 

Connor fills a tall glass with water from the tap, letting it spill over the sides and into the sink. The clock hanging on the wall shows that it’s sometime after three in the morning. He should be asleep. But he isn’t. Connor doesn’t think that he’s fell asleep before three in years.

 

“Oh.” Zoe’s slightly surprised voice breaks the silence. “It’s you.”

 

Connor doesn’t say anything, just lifts the cup to his lips and takes a long drink. He watches her through the sparkling glass as she gets her own cup of water. Fucking crystal. Why is everything in the house so damn expensive?

 

“So,” Zoe says. He doesn’t miss the way that she retreats back to the other side of the kitchen, as if she’s scared to be within a five-foot radius of him. “You got suspended?”

 

It’s not a necessary question, she already knows the answer, and Connor doesn’t know what she’s playing at by asking it. Still, he nods, watching the hands on the clock move, little ticking noises coming from it that makes Connor want to tear it off the wall and stomp on it with his bare feet.

 

“Why are you like this?” Zoe says quietly. There it is. “I get that you can’t control it- I _get_ it- but there are people who actually give a shit about you, you know? And there are people that want to.”  Another minute ticks by. Connor’s skin itches, and he resists the urge to scrape his nails up his arms. “And all you fucking do is push them away. That’s all you do, and I just want to know why.”

 

There are a million reasons that Connor could give, but none of them seem quite right, not even the valid ones. He clenches his fists together. “I don’t know,” he says. It was supposed be menacing, but his voice cracks at the end, and it just ends up sounding pathetic. “I don’t know, you’re Little Miss Perfect, why don’t you tell me?”

 

“ _Excuse_ me?” Zoe cries.

 

Anger is bubbling inside of him, pushing words up through his throat and out of his mouth. “Yeah. Poor Zoe Murphy with the psycho brother who’s so fucking _messed up-”_

 

Connor cuts himself off before he can go any further. Zoe’s face is a mixture of shock, and sadness, and _pity,_ and Connor hates it. “Never mind,” he snaps. He slams the glass down the counter. Zoe flinches. Connor hates it. Another minute ticks by. “Fuck- never mind.”

 

“Connor-” Zoe starts, but Connor is gone, up the stairs into his room, the door slamming behind him.

 

Connor doesn’t try. Connor can’t control himself. Connor is a _freakfreakfreak._

 

_I want you to notice_

_When I’m not around_

_You’re so fucking special_

_I wish I was special_

 

Despite the fact that Connor’s really, really high right now, he can’t help but get a warm, fuzzy feeling pulsing through his ribcage when his phone dings and Evans contact name pops up. It’s one really long text message with apologies sprinkled throughout, asking how Connor is doing, saying that Jared didn’t mean what he said the other day, and telling him that if he ever wants to talk, he’s here, although he’s probably not the best person to do that with, because he’s extremely anxious and not the best at giving at advice, and now he’s rambling again, isn’t that great?

 

Maybe talking would help. Maybe, instead of dodging questions and yelling, Connor could sit down and do that ‘let’s all hold hands and spill our feelings’ bullshit that always seems to work in the movies. Maybe Connor could pick up the phone, and type in Evans number, and wait until he picked up. Maybe it would work.

 

But it’s too late at night, and his phone is all the way across the room, and Connor doesn’t want to bother him. Evan has enough problems of his own; he doesn’t need Connor’s piled on top of them.

 

Smoke curls from the joint in his hand, rising to the ceiling in soft wisps, rising, rising, rising. Evan wouldn’t be happy if he knew that he was high, Connor thinks. He’d like to pretend that Evans opinion doesn’t matter to him, but he knows that isn’t true.

 

Why do Connor’s thoughts always go right back to Evan? His soft blond hair, and his fidgeting hands that can’t stay still, and his chocolate eyes that are so warm, and inviting, and Connor just wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him forever.

 

Connor closes his eyes and takes a slow breath. He doesn’t want to think about what that means.

 

_But I’m a creep_

_I’m a weirdo_

_What the hell am I doing here?_

_I don’t belong here_

 

“Nice room,” Connor says as Evan closes the door behind him. The sky-blue walls are painfully bare, no photos or posters or anything that would indicate that there’s a teenager who lives there. The only thing that shows that the room isn’t just for guests is the three succulents lined up on the windowsill, and a picture of a little Evan wearing a baseball uniform standing next to who Connor assumes is his mother. “You played baseball?”

 

“Not really,” Evan answers. He sits down on the bed gently, wincing when the springs squeak. “I only went to two practices- and then I got hit in the f-face with a ball? And I, um, had a panic attack, so I- so I didn’t go back.”

 

Connor didn’t even make it to one baseball practice. He had thrown his glove halfway across the room when Larry had told him that he had to go, breaking some expensive vase that was ‘irreplaceable’ or something.

 

There was a new one standing in its exact spot a week later.

 

But Connor doesn’t say any of that. Because Evan doesn’t care about how Connor has always been like this, he doesn’t need to know that. No fucking way. So he justs sits down next to Evan, and pulls out the science worksheets that he had absolutely no plans to do, not until Evan asked him to come over and do homework. For the fourth time this week. And Connor had run out of excuses for why he couldn’t hang out.

 

“Um-“ Evan says. He starts to fidget with the hem of his polo shirt, a grey one today, and he gulps. “Are you- are you mad at me?”

 

Connor furrows his eyebrows. “No,” he says slowly, waiting for Evan to elaborate pencil hovers over his paper. “No,” he says slowly, “Why would you say that?”

 

Evan fingers dance across the bedspread, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. “Well, uh, you just seem kind of mad lately? Like you’ve been avoiding me? And- I was wondering if it was- if it was my f-fault?”

 

For a second, the words almost spill out of his mouth, the words that say Connor’s a _freakfreakfreak,_ a freak who likes his best friend, which really fucking sucks, but he swallows them down. He wants to touch Evans shoulder. He doesn’t do it. “No, of course not,” he assures him. “I’ve just been really busy with shit- you know, parents up my ass, school, that sort of thing.” Connor’s lying, he knows he’s lying, but Evan can’t know, Evan can’t know the truth.

 

Evan visibly relaxes, and his shoulders uncurl from their tense position. “Good- that’s good. I’m- glad.”

 

“Me too, Ev,” Connor lies, and it might just be his imagination, but Evan seems to move just a bit closer. “Me too.”

 

_He’s running out again_

_He’s running out_

_He’s run run run run_

 

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

 

The words hang suspended in the air, and it takes Connor a second to process that he’s on his feet, his entire family staring at him in an array of different emotions. Zoe is trying not to cry, but Connor can see the tears building up behind her eyes, and _oh god, he just threatened to kill his own sister._

 

Connor is on his feet and out the door in moments. Maybe someone calls out to him, maybe they don’t. He can’t tell.

 

His lungs burn and his legs ache, but Connor keeps going, as far away from his house as possible, down the street, down the street, as far away as possible, Connor just threatened to kill his _sister, shitshitshit, Connor can’t control himself, Connor’s a-_

It takes him a few minutes to realize that he’s at the orchard, and Connor collapses underneath a tree, the same one the him and Evan always climb. The grass is damp. It rained last night. Connor got high again last night.

 

His phone buzzes, and Connor digs it out of his pocket. His hands are shaking. When did his hands start shaking?

 

 **_Evan:_ ** _{attachment one image} This is a picture of the largest tree in the world! Isn’t it cool!_

 

Connor stares at the screen. Laughter bubbles up in his stomach, and Connor is sitting on the ground of the orchard, hysterically laughing because only Evan Hansen would think that the largest tree in the world is cool, and only Evan Hansen would send him a picture of said tree, and only Evan Hansen would text Connor, and only Evan Hansen will talk to Connor. Only Evan Hansen will talk to Connor, and only Connor will talk to Evan.

 

And Evan is good, Evan is nice, Evan doesn’t deserve to be alone. He doesn’t deserve the spend long nights alone in a dark house, eating cold leftover pizza. He doesn’t deserve to only have Connor to talk to, because Connor’s a mess, and Connor will hurt him, just like he does to everyone else. Evan is special, and Connor is not. Connor is not.

 

_Whatever makes you happy_

_Whatever you want_

_You’re so fucking special_

_I wish I was special_

 

“Connor! Connor, wait! Please!”

 

“Leave me the fuck alone, Hansen,” Connor growls. He stomps down the hallway, and everyone parts to make way for him and a pleading Evan Hansen chasing after him.

 

Evan grabs his wrist, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “C-Connor, wait, I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I don’t know what I d-did, but- but I can fix it, I p-promise!”

 

Connor turns to look at Evan. His lips are red from where he had been biting them and his fists are curled into little balls at his sides, and he looks _sad,_ and it’s all Connor’s fault. “Fuck off,” Connor snaps. The grip on his arms tightens.

 

“But-”

 

“I said fuck off!” Connor yells. Blood rushes in his ears and everything goes white. The next thing Connor knows, is that Evan is sprawled on the ground at his feet, looking up at him with _those fucking eyes_ , and Connor’s hands are out in front of him. His stomach twists painfully, and his arms drop back down to his sides.

 

“Shit,” Connor says. “ _Shit,_ I- I-” He breaks off and runs out of the building, all the way out to his car, just like on the first day of school, barging through crowds of people who look at him like the _freakfreakfreak_ that he is. Except this time, there’s no boy in a blue polo shirt with ten numbers on his cast; there’s only a boy lying on the ground in the middle of the hallway, because Connor hurts everything and everyone, and Connor knows that Evan is better off without him anyway.

 

_But I’m a creep_

_I’m a weirdo_

 

Connor taps on the door three times, hoping that Evans mother isn’t home, and he won’t have to explain why he’s standing outside in the pouring rain, carrying a bouquet of fucking _flowers,_ for gods’ sakes. Luckily, Evan is the one who opens the door, one brown eye visible through the crack, and Connor swallows, hard.

 

“Evan? Uh, it’s Connor?” The eye blinks. “Can I come in?” There’s a long pause, and Connor thinks that Evan is going to leave him outside, but the door swings open slightly, giving him just enough room to squeeze in.

 

“Um- here,” Connor says. “These are- for you.” He’s really wishing that he hadn’t brought them, but Evan reaches out and takes them out of his hands, never lifting his eyes off of his socks with the Star Wars logo on them. “I wanted to say sorry? For yesterday, I- I shouldn’t of done that, and- fuck, I’m so sorry, Evan.” The word ‘sorry’ sounds unfamiliar coming out of his mouth. When was the last time he had actually apologized for something?

 

“Is it my f-fault?” Evan asks quietly. “Because, I know, I _know_ I can get- really annoying? And if you d-don’t want to be- my friend? You don’t have to, it’s okay, you don’t have to-”

 

“No! No, that’s not it, not at all,” Connor says. “It’s just- fuck, Hansen, can’t you see that I’m a fucking mess? Like- damnit, I don’t want to hurt you anymore, and I’m just a fucking terrible person-”

 

“You’re- you’re not,” Evan interrupts. “You’re not a bad p-person, not at all.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“You’re _not,”_ he insists. “You’re- funny, and smart, and nice, and- and- when you smile, your e-eyes get all squinty? In a good way! And, uh, you’re the only one who- cares about me? You talk to me, and you’re my _friend_ \- and you’re not a bad person? You’re _not.”_

 

Throughout the entire speech, Evan keeps stepping forwards, and he’s closer now, so close that Connor can see the little gold flecks in his right iris, and there’s a lump building at the bottom of his throat, because Evan is saying all these nice things, these nice things that Connor doesn’t deserve. He doesn’t think that Connor’s a _freakfreakfreak_ and he’s so, so _close_ , and Connor leans down and presses his lips to Evans.

 

It takes him a full three seconds to realize what he’s doing before Connor pulls back in shock. “Evan-” He starts, a second round of apologies playing at his lips, but he doesn’t get time to say them, because Evan reaches up and they’re kissing again; Evans hands in Connor’s hair, and Connor’s arms wrapped around his waist. And he’s wanted this for so long, and Evan smells like an intoxicating mix of dryer sheets and vanilla, and Evan doesn’t think that Connor’s a _freakfreakfreak,_ and they’re _kissing,_ so he presses himself even tighter against Evan _._

 

Connor knows that Evan is eventually going to realize that he’s making a mistake, but he doesn’t want to think about that right now, he doesn’t want to think about the chanting in his head, doesn’t want to think at all, really. All he wants to do is kiss Evan.

 

So he does.

 

_I don’t belong here_

_I don’t belong here_

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr @seconddegreeburns, and if you liked this leave a comment or kudos! no pressure though


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